


Goner

by im95notdead (jncxo)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Drabble Fic, F/M, Gratuitous Bob Ross references, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, Therapy, WinterShock - Freeform, getting better
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-10
Updated: 2018-05-08
Packaged: 2018-08-14 07:21:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 13,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8003596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jncxo/pseuds/im95notdead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There was no magic spell that would "fix" him, that would erase the haunting memories of his past. But maybe it was time to make new memories.</p><p>In which I attempt to complete the "A Drabble a Day Challenge", Wintershock style.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> For the "A Drabble a Day Challenge" by **genimhaled** on **30daychallengearchive** tumblr.
> 
> So, this is kind of loosely set after Civil War, but I'm warning you, I am and will be taking several liberties with canon. I've been trying to get myself back into writing, and I've had so many fic ideas, but it seems like climbing over one hill a day is a lot more easily accomplished than hiking up a mountain. I haven't written for the fandom in, like, a year, so please bear with me.

**Day One: Beginning**

“Greetings, earthings!” 

Bucky lifted his head up from where he’d been silently reading through the newspaper. Steve had been dutifully hand-delivering him _The New York Times_ each morning to read over while he drank tea and enjoyed the stillness of the Avengers facility before training started and the compound exploded with activity. The bright, shrill voice now chattering away across the room gave Bucky pause. Steve and Sam had a standing five a.m. appointment, jogging around the grounds before the sun came up, but even they knew how to be quiet about it. The intruder, who finally appeared in Bucky’s line of vision with wild curls and a ridiculous bounce to her step, seemed to rise with the sunlight slowly creeping its way through the window.

“…should have seen it, Jane, it was absolutely ridiculous,” she was saying to Dr. Foster, whose step fell slightly behind the newcomer, her pace more sedate. Steve appeared around the corner just after them, a towel around his shoulder and an amused smirk on his face. Bucky raised an eyebrow at the group, and Steve met his eye, shrugging in response. 

“I don’t care what Tony says,” the girl with curly hair continued, “the duct tape is essential. It – oh.” She drew up short at the sight of Bucky, but recovered quickly, her red lips curving upward into a smile. “Well, _hello_." 

“Buck, this is Darcy,” Steve said after a brief pause. “She used to be Dr. Foster’s intern. Darcy, this is my friend –”

“Bucky Barnes,” Darcy finished for Steve, grinning at him in a way that made Bucky shift in his seat. “I’d recognize those cheekbones anywhere.” She turned from him to face Steve, placing a hand on her cocked hip. “I was a little bit of a history buff, dude. You have to understand, your star-spangled self and muscles over there are some of the few reasons I paid such close attention to World War II in school.” 

Steve scratched the back of his neck and gave one of his ‘aw shucks’ shrugs. 

“Darcy,” Dr. Foster said warningly, raising a thin eyebrow at her friend. “ _Behave_.”

“Yes ma’am,” Darcy said, turning to face Bucky again as she rolled her eyes. “I don’t get to spend all day with the cool Avengers like you do. Let me be a little star-struck.”

Bucky had hardly moved an inch, preferring instead to play spectator in this situation; he glanced up at Steve, who was studying him closely. Steve was never far, eager to play babysitter, making sure Bucky wasn’t overwhelmed or overcrowded. His time in Wakanda had been what he’d needed; while in cryo, King T’Challa’s scientists had done the unthinkable, not only protecting his location, but also a highly effective deprogramming that had wiped Hydra’s training for the Winter Soldier. Though no longer a weapon, Bucky still wasn’t, technically speaking, “safe”. He’d been stripped of the brainwashing, but the memories, the flashes of his past, were still there. He’d spent awhile in isolation, plagued with constant paranoia, and while over the past year he’d slowly been able to integrate himself into the small group of scientists and employees at the Avengers facility, he wasn’t “fixed.” There was no magical switched to be flipped, no code or programming to make him normal. He’d never be normal. He was a soldier, plagued with a unique PTSD that often left him frozen in memories, drenched in sweat following all-too-real nightmares.

It had been almost too painful, for awhile; there was an awkward heart-to-heart between him, Steve, and Tony Stark, mediated by his therapist, Monica. He had no words for Tony Stark – he knew no words could fix what had transpired all those years ago – but the two had managed to make amends, nonetheless. Steve and Tony also had spent time trying to work through the countless trust issues they’d developed with one another, spurned by Steve’s blind support of Bucky. He’d been seeing Monica since returning to New York, and had sessions with her almost every single day. There was so much guilt he was still trying to work through. But he was feeling, bit by bit, that it was alright, that, sure, he was crazy, but after all he’d been through, who wouldn’t be?

“Is he still breathing?”

Bucky blinked and started; there was a white cup just millimeters from his nose, a pale hand wrapped around it, fingernails colored an unsightly shade of orange.

“Sorry, sorry,” the loud girl, Darcy, apologized hastily, and the cup withdrew. “Pumpkin spice lattes aren’t for everybody, I get it.” His eyes flicked up to meet hers; she was up in his space, hip resting on the table right next to his clenched fist; Steve hovered over her shoulder, ready to pounce. To Bucky’s surprise, Darcy glanced back at Steve and snorted at him. _Snorted_. “Hey, back off, Rogers. It’s not my fault back in your day everything had as much flavor as dirty dish water.”

Bucky felt the corner of his mouth twitch.

Darcy’s blue eyes fixed on him once more, and the sly grin from earlier was back. “Don’t worry, I’ll get you hooked eventually. You’ll see.” She pushed off the table and took two steps away before turning back to him. “Tip? Don’t accept coffee from Clint. If you can even call that sludge he drinks liquid.” She winked at him, so quickly he almost thought she had an unfortunate tic in her eye, before she patted Steve once on the bicep, chirping, “Later, Cap!” and linked her arm through Dr. Foster’s, dragging the astrophysicist out of the kitchenette and towards the center of the facility where the labs were located.

There was a long moment of silence; Steve’s whole body seemed to exhale, and he shook his head once before taking a seat before Bucky, carefully sliding his newspaper over to fold his hands on the table. “So,” he said slowly, his eyebrows slightly furrowed. “That’s Darcy.”

Bucky’s gaze was still on where the two girls had retreated; his eyes slowly returned to Steve. He spoke just one word, his voice slightly hoarse from disuse: “Darcy."


	2. Accusation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darcy Lewis cares loudly about people. Also, Clint is very protective of his trick arrows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to those of you that commented on the first chapter and left kudos! I was really nervous about getting back into posting fanfiction, but it definitely eased my anxiety a bit.
> 
> Heads up for this chapter: Clint Barton is not going to be MCU Clint hardly at all. I love Clint and he really got screwed over in the movies, as far as screentime and characterization goes. Laura Barton is pretty cool and all, but this series is going to be more compliant with the Hawkeye comics in regards to Clint because he is a total human disaster but he's my favorite kind of human disaster and I'm not ready for him to get domestic and go into retirement. Also, Kate Bishop. 'Nuff said.

**Day Two: Accusation**  

When Bucky first met Darcy Lewis, he wondered how someone could radiate so much energy first thing in the morning. Once her presence in the Avengers compound became more frequent, he started to wonder how such a tiny person could radiate so much energy _all the damn time_. He’d run into her nearly a dozen times over the past month, since their first encounter. Bucky knew Darcy worked in Stark Tower in New York City, though she’d never elaborated exactly what she did for the goateed super genius, and Bucky hadn’t asked because, well, he’d still never said a single word to the girl. She always made a point in saying hi to him, making eye contact and giving him that same sly grin that made his chest ache almost painfully, but he only ever saw her in passing, usually bopping alongside Dr. Foster or sometimes Tony Stark himself, and _always_ talking a hundred miles a minute.

Bucky couldn’t remember the last time he’d encountered someone so full of life, so full of light, so carefree in their emotions and affections. She was always touching people; offering high-fives, fist bumps, walking arm-in-arm with Jane Foster, offering Steve and Sam one-armed hugs upon her departure. He’d once witnessed her marching Stark from the compound, stretched on her toes as she guided him from behind, hands at his shoulders, lecturing him over something he’d been grinning lazily over, unaffected.

“Erik’s not going to let us back if you _blow stuff up_ every time, Tony! _This_ is why we can’t have nice things!”

He’d gathered from his brief observations and offhand comments he’d overheard about Darcy that she was, perhaps, an assistant of some sort, in the same way she’d been for Dr. Foster while in college. He’d been in the kitchen at the same time as Jane and Clint Barton one morning, and pretended to read the paper while the astrophysicist told Clint how Darcy used to hand-feed her and force her out of the labs to sleep when she’d gone on days-long science benders.

“What I hear when you shout, Darcy,” Tony had told her as she’d marched him to the front door, a grin on his face, “is you caring loudly at me.” That was, quiet possibly, the best way Bucky could think to summarize Darcy: she cared very loudly about people.

Even Bucky. She dutifully greeted him, occasionally got up in his space; she’d proven at their very first meeting she wasn’t afraid of being in close proximity to him. But she still hadn’t linked arms, offered a high five, not touched him in the slightest. And he still hadn’t spoken to her.

 

-^-

 

“I think I’ll have to side with Kate on this one. Boomerang arrows? Not going to be a best seller.”

Bucky was in the gym with Steve, sparring; he’d lost some of the bulk he’d accumulated while in hiding in Romania, between his time in cryo and deprogramming, and it was, admittedly, hard to throw himself back into working out now that he was down his left arm. Ridding himself of the Hydra weapon was bittersweet, and he still had serious phantom limb at times. Steve was pulling his punches to make up for the handicap, and Bucky couldn’t decide if he was appreciative or irritated by the coddling.

“She’s still dissing the boomerang arrows? After I saved her and Penny from a bunch of thugs –?”

“Oh, yes, there’s the hard sell I was waiting for,” Darcy’s voice echoed in the gymnasium as she and Clint Barton came around the corner. “‘This arrow saved me, my best friend, and my stripper ex-girlfriend Cherry from the mafia.’ Was this before or after your car was stolen?”

Clint wearily ran a hand over his face. “Some backup here, please, guys?" He called out to Steve and Bucky. “Boomerang arrows. Way of the future, yeah?” Darcy shook her head ‘no’ emphatically over Clint’s shoulder. Clint pulled one out of the quiver he had slung over one shoulder, and Steve approached him to examine it.

Darcy approached Bucky, arms crossed over her chest, and spoke out the corner of her mouth, eyes on Steve and Clint. “He’s been begging Tony for a new prototype for months. I don’t have the heart to tell him it’s one of the worst ideas I’ve ever heard. He’s got this thing with trick arrows that I’ll never understand. He actually has to label them so he doesn’t get them confused. I feel like maybe he shouldn’t be trusted with lethal weapons, you know?” Bucky was listening to Darcy speak, but his eyes were trained on her fingernails, this week painted a shocking neon pink, as they tapped against the elbow of her crossed arm. He started at the sound of her throat clearing, and flashed up to her watching him, brow furrowed, eyes dancing with amusement.

“Howdy there, soldier,” she said. “You know, you’re a great listener, but my eyes are up here.”

Her eyes… oh. _Oh_. She thought he’d been looking at… _oh_. Bucky felt heat rise on his cheeks, and he opened his mouth, attempting to croak out an excuse, an apology, something, but could only stammer out a noise he’d be embarrassed about making for weeks –

Darcy’s harsh burst of laughter cut him off. “Oh my god, I’m sorry, I was totally kidding!” Bucky felt all of his breath leave him in a huge _whoosh_. He dropped his eyes to the floor, listening to Steve and Barton’s back and forth as they tested out the new arrow, and fidgeted with the hem of his shirt.

“Hey,” Darcy said softly, taking a hesitant step closer. She had one hand extended towards his face, frozen in midair, tentative. “I am sorry. I wanted to make a joke. I was hoping you’d laugh. I don’t too often encounter decent guys who care more about what I’m saying than the girls.” 

 _Decent_. She called him decent.

As he worked that over in his head, Darcy took a step away, offering him a brief, closed-mouth smile, before turning her attention back to Barton, getting in a few more jabs about his quirky arrows before she made her excuses and left the compound to head back to Stark’s tower. If Steve wondered why Bucky seemed distracted the rest of the day, he didn’t comment on it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> High fives to those of you that caught the Parks & Rec reference. I couldn't help myself.


	3. Restless

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, thank you, thank you to the amazing response I've gotten for this story so far. I'm sorry I haven't taken the time to respond to individual reviews, but I promise I intend to - I've read every one, and I appreciate them all so much.
> 
> P.S. Sorry for the gratuitous and repetitive pumpkin spice latte references. It's finally fall and I have no self control.

**Day Three: Restless**

“Do you ever move from that spot?”

Bucky looked up from that morning’s issue of _The New York Times_ to find Darcy Lewis leaning against the archway to the kitchenette, watching him with her red lips upturned. Her cheeks were flushed from the cold, and as she pushed off the archway, she pulled her puce-colored beanie off her head, fluffing out her curls.

This was the first time Bucky had ever been alone with Darcy, and he felt a nervous twitch in his stomach as the thought occurred to him. There was nobody to distract her, to _respond_ to her; the seasons were about to change and he’d yet to say a word in her presence. Just the day before, her name had come up in his afternoon session with his therapist, Monica; he’d grappled for the best words to describe her, and Monica had waited patiently as he did. He recalled the way her eyebrows had risen to her hairline, and he’d stopped short in his speech, feeling self conscious. 

“She’s important to you,” Monica had surmised after the short silence. 

“Isn’t it your job to be impartial?” Bucky had replied, leaning back in the cushy armchair. “Why d’ya got that ‘cat ate the canary’ look on your face?”

Monica had chuckled at that, and relented, “Well, yes, technically I am. I’m just happy to see you take such an interest in someone.” He’d made an impatient ‘go on’ gesture with his hand, and she continued, “James, do you realize when you got here, you’d been so hesitant towards any kind of interaction, you wouldn’t talk to me, even? Mr. Rogers did all the talking for you. Which, as we later found out, you didn’t take too kindly,” she added with a wry smile. “My impression of your interactions with Mr. Rogers, and Mr. Stark, come to think of it, were that you were at war within yourself, who you were inside – now – and others’ impressions of you, which, in Mr. Rogers’ case, were slightly antiquated.” Monica wasn’t wrong; it had taken many difficult talks with Steve to remedy the fact that Bucky wasn’t the same old kid from Brooklyn, and may never be that guy again. “You were hero-worshipped, you were reviled, and – especially as the Winter Soldier – your entire self was based on the perceptions others had about you. This Darcy – well, it sounds to me like she isn’t letting any preconceived notions affect how she acts around you, is she?” 

“No,” Bucky replied, shifting in his seat. “Not at all. She’s always so… so happy. And kind. Probably too kind." 

“Why do you say too kind?”

“She’s not nice to me ‘cause she’s afraid of me. She’s… she doesn’t tiptoe around me, not like Steve does. Treats me like I’m normal. Doesn’t mean I ain’t afraid I’m gonna scare her off, though. I may have already spooked her a bit. She won’t get too close.”

“Maybe you ought to try with a ‘Hi, how are you?’ I bet you’d be surprised how she’d respond,” Monica replied, settling back in her chair slightly. “You’ll never know until you break your silence. I have a feeling she’d warm a little more.” Bucky had fallen silent at that, knowing that there was truth in Monica’s dry delivery. 

“Should I be flattered?” 

Darcy’s words echoed in the empty kitchen. Bucky blinked. She was a step away from the chair across from him at the table, and despite the easy smile on her face, Bucky noted she was wringing her hands together.

“I can’t really tell if you’re checking me out or just trying to ignore that I’m here,” she added. “You, uh, mind if I interrupt your reading?”

Bucky nearly sent his mug of tea flying trying to fold up the paper with one hand, and then gestured to the seat before him, face growing hot. Darcy bit her cheek but Bucky caught the soft smile on her face with a small sense of pleasure.

“Seems like a nice morning routine,” Darcy piped up after she’d taken a seat.

“Yeah,” Bucky said, and his voice came out scratchy; it was the first word he’d spoken that morning. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Yeah, s’not so bad.”

“I bet it’s nice to have some normalcy, what with all the crazy that probably goes on here the rest of the day,” Darcy offered, settling into her chair and casting a glance out the window. “Working for Stark is pandemonium, which is why I take any opportunity I can to get out of the building. I’m kind of a glorified errand-runner.” Darcy grinned at him impishly. “Plus, y’know, scientist types. I’m an expert at Jane-wrangling, which translates pretty well to Tony-wrangling. Nonstop 48-hour science does terrifying things to the human body, and brain. I just now got done wrestling Jane into bed after her all-nighter.” Darcy exhaled through her nose and shook her head, eyes wandering towards the window as the sun peeked over the horizon.

“Is that all you do? Babysit?” Bucky piped up after a moment, and almost regretted is words until Darcy flashed him a blindingly huge smile. 

“Oh, it’s a big part of it. You’ve met Tony. When he’s not being endearingly insufferable, he’s as helpless as a newborn. Thankfully he always keeps coffee stocked. I fill out paperwork for him and run errands sometimes and, I don’t know. I do have some free time. I like trying out breakfast diners in NYC and using my work computer to look up cat memes.” She winked at him. “Unless Tony’s trying out new inventions on me, or actively involved in a lawsuit, there isn’t a lot going on. So, I explore. I found this one place – Mama Edith’s – it’s a 24-hour diner with _such_ good loaded hash browns, and they have free wi-fi. And don’t get me started on their bacon. It is _to die_ for.”

Good. This was good. Bucky wasn’t following half the stuff Darcy was talking about, but she was carrying on a conversation and he was getting away with saying very few words.

She paused. “Is breakfast, like, a thing that you do? Ever? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you with anything but that tea.” 

“Cooking isn’t very easy, right now,” Bucky said softly, giving a little wave with his right hand.

“Oh, fuck. Well, I’d offer you my foot, but I just put it in my own mouth,” Darcy said in a rush, pressing her hands against her face. “I’m sorry. I forget – ”

Bucky gave a quick jerk of his head. “S’fine." 

“You… um… I ought to bring you breakfast, sometime.” The sly smile returned to her face. “You never have gotten to try a pumpkin spice latte.” She chuckled suddenly. “You’re a born and raised New Yorker and you haven’t had, like, any of the great food of this century. Cap told me he used to cook for you two, sometimes – trust me when I say, there’s more to do in the kitchen than boil things.”

Darcy waggled her eyebrows at him comically, and he felt the corners of his mouth twitch. She glanced out the window before slapping a hand down on the table. “Okay! Enough of these four walls. Every time I’ve seen you, you’re cooped up in here being mopey. Let’s go on a walk!”

“A walk,” he repeated. 

“Yup. Stark built this building, which means the air you’re breathing is his air, and trust me when I say it is _not good_ to breathe this much of Tony’s air.” Darcy rose to her feet and rounded the table; he saw the slightest hesitation before she reached a pale hand out, palm up, towards him. An offering.

Bucky looked at Darcy’s hand. He was fairly certain she was holding her breath. Ever so carefully, he reached forward and placed his right hand in hers.


	4. Snowflake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, even with the best of intentions...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Trigger warning.** Without giving too much away, an anxiety attack happens in this chapter. It was hard for me to write, and maybe it's not as big a deal as it felt to me, but I'd hate to upset anybody.

**Day Four: Snowflake**

This was it. _This_ was how he was finally going to die.

“Dude. Who did you lose a bet to?”

Bucky looked up from the glass tray to meet Darcy’s bemused gaze; she was in the doorway to the lab, unwinding the scarf from her neck. Stark burst in seconds later, and Darcy jumped out of her way as he almost plowed her over in his enthusiasm. His arms were laden with “toys” for Jane, who glanced up from her microscope, did a triple-take at Stark, and immediately leapt out of her seat, making grabby hands.

“I’m studying the effects of Asgardian soil on this miniature ecosystem,” Bucky chanted in monotone.

“So you’re literally watching grass grow?” Darcy’s bark of laughter could be best described as a cackle. “Buck, you’ve gotta learn to say no!”

Thor had brought Jane dirt clods from Asgard on his most recent visit, and she was testing varieties of grass seed in a long, shallow basin, to see how the soil affected the growth. Bucky had made the mistake of peeking through the glass lab walls one day and was spotted by Jane, who’d shrieked, “ _You_!” and drug him in to assist her. He’d been instructed to take notes. For the past three days.

“You’re totally writing in Russian on purpose, you ass,” Darcy said, snatching up the notebook on the table to Bucky’s right side, but she was grinning. “Lucky for you, I brought a distraction. I’m here to spring you.”

Ever since Bucky had voluntarily taken Darcy’s hand to go on a walk around the grounds of the Avengers facility, physical boundaries had all but disappeared between the two. Sure, Darcy could tell by the look in Bucky’s eyes if he was having one of those days, if something was amiss, and wasn’t stupid enough to poke the sleeping bear. But she also wasn’t shy about manhandling him if he so pleased, and at the moment she had hooked a slender arm around his bicep and forcibly drug him sideways off the stool he’d been dutifully perched on. 

“I couldn’t live with myself if I let you miss the first snowfall,” Darcy told him, eyes wide and serious. “And, coincidentally, it is snowing right at this very moment, and it is beautiful. Did they have snow globes back in the forties? Cause it’s totally snow globe weather.”

As Darcy led them around the corner, the living area opened up before them, wide open windows displaying a solid white coating of snow on the ground and dusting the tops of the trees. Bucky ground to a halt and felt his throat tighten up. He watched the heavy sea of snowflakes fall from the sky and remembered a very different day, a day from a different time… There was a deafening rush in his ears, and it felt as if his body was dropping, falling, tumbling through space. He cried out as he fell, but his voice made no sound, as if he were trapped in a horrible nightmare. He flailed, hands grasping for purchase but meeting nothing but air, and he was terribly, terribly alone. 

Steve’s face swam in his field of vision, and with an almost-audible thud four walls around him came swimming into view, the falling sensation was gone – something solid was beneath his feet, under his ass, he was on a floor somewhere – and he groped for something to hold onto, fisting his hands into soft fabric. Tears flooded his vision, and he gasped out, “Steve – _Stevie_ – ” And collapsed into broken sobs. His body ached, and he _shook_ , fucking trembled like a little leaf in the wind, like – no, don’t think about that again, he mentally scolded himself, you’re not falling, damn it, Steve was solid and warm and he mashed his face into the brick wall of Steve’s chest and bawled and breathed in the familiar scent of his long lost friend and tried to rid his head of those torturous thoughts, of that day long ago.

“I’ve got you, Buck,” Steve said, his voice sounding muffled and maybe even a little choked, and Bucky just breathed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh. Don't hate me. Writing this chapter was honestly painful for me, but I feel like it's necessary to show this side to Bucky's recovery. I've cried before just thinking about all the things Bucky went through during his time with Hydra. He deserves big fluffy hugs.


	5. Haze

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky knew Monica’s intention was to soothe, but the more she talked, the more frustrated he felt. And he was having trouble putting what happened, the experience, the memory into words, which left him feeling even more resentful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you again for your kind words of encouragement! It feels good to be writing again, and being able to churn out one if not more of these in a day is so liberating.

**Day Five: Haze**

“Is it okay if we talk about what happened yesterday?”

Bucky looked up at Monica from his lap, trying to ignore the sore, puffy ache of his eyes as they moved in his head.

“It’s okay. I don’t expect you to. It’s not something you ought to dwell on, either.”

Bucky knew Monica’s intention was to soothe, but the more she talked, the more frustrated he felt. And he was having trouble putting what happened, the experience, the memory into words, which left him feeling even more resentful.

“She was there,” he finally spat in anger, and growled low in his throat at the traitorous pricking sensation at the back of his eyes – he’d cried like a child enough in the past 24 hours to last him a lifetime, and he was ashamed. He swiped his hand under his nose. “She was there and I dunno what she saw or where she is now – nobody’ll tell me. Poor dame’s probably blaming herself, thinks I’m nuts ‘cause I can’t look at a little snow without breaking down.” He swallowed the lump in his throat and went back to studying his shoes.

“James,” Monica said gently, and Bucky used his right hand to push himself out of the chair and onto his feet before her, so abruptly Monica flinched, but to her credit, she kept her expression schooled and didn’t shrink away from him.

“Don’t fuckin’ do that,” he rasped out. “Stop sayin’ my name all soft, like I’m a fuckin’ child, Christ, I’m tired of everyone treating me like a child.” 

“There are protocols in place for the protection of everyone in the facility – not from you only, James, but from any situation that has the potential to be harmful,” Monica continued calmly, but without such a soothing tone. “We’ve discussed this before, and I know it’s hard, I know it feels personal, and it’s going to, but it’s not. It’s nothing to do with _you_ , James, but everything to do with what you’ve gone through. If she’s gone, it’s because Mr. Rogers and Mr. Stark are exercising their safety protocols to ensure you yourself are safe and in control of your faculties.” She paused before leveling Bucky with a stern look. “Your best friend held you for hours yesterday while you cried. I don’t know what you saw, James, but it wasn’t only you it haunted. I don’t always agree with Mr. Rogers’ ideas of making decisions for you based on his opinions of your safety. But he was worried for you – we all were, and are – and I can’t imagine helplessly watching you struggle with your own reality was easy for him. Certainly not to equate it with your experience. But it was still there.” 

Bucky exhaled sharply through his nose, once, twice, then bobbed his head in some approximation of a nod and returned to his seat.

“Self pity is okay. You need to have a sense of when something has pushed you too far, and you need time to recuperate. But it does no one any good to look down upon those around them to elevate their sense of self. You have moments of weakness, James, but you are so strong. You just have to remember that everyone in this compound, these people surrounding you every day, have their pasts, their demons, their moments of weakness, too. I’m not encouraging you all to hold a pissing contest,” she said rather frankly, the corner of her mouth lifting upward. “Frankly, there’s enough issues on the Avengers team alone to overwhelm the most practiced and highly esteemed psychiatrist in the world. But if your concern is in those around you, remember they are strong and capable, such as yourself. They all have days where they fall down, too, but they pick themselves back up, just as you have and continue to do. This woman – Darcy – has been through things in her life you know nothing about, just as I’m sure you have experiences you haven’t shared with her. Is it fair to make assumptions of how she will react to what happened, without talking to her first? Maybe you’re right, maybe it was too much for her to handle. If so, let her be, because you can’t afford to let people in if they can’t appreciate what you’ve been through. But I like to believe she’s made of tougher stuff. I bet, if you give her a chance, she’ll want to understand. She’ll want to help. I know that’s why I’m here.” 

“Not because Tony’s paying you well?” Bucky countered, and was rewarded with a stern glare and a raised eyebrow. He backtracked slightly. “I just… I dunno. I’ve had bad days, but I never… I mean, that’s the first…” 

“The first time that memory had been triggered?” Monica finished for him. He nodded curtly, chewing on the inside of his cheek. 

“I was falling,” he said softly after a moment, his hand clenched on his knee. The rest came out in a rush. “I was on that train with Steve and the Commandos and then I was falling, I went off the train and down that valley, and the fuckin’ _snow_ , and I – I was _dead_ , Monica, I don’t even remember the day it happened to me, I’d think it was something _they_ put up there, if I didn’t know it was how I…” He paused, swallowed. “It was different somehow, it felt real, and I just kept seein’ it on a loop.”

He ran his hand through his hair, still long and shaggy, even for all the times Steve had suggested oh-so casually he get a haircut. He liked the comfort of it, lurking in his periphery, something he had that was his that nobody could take away from him, something to hide behind, even, if he wanted. Plus, he didn’t think he could bear the thought of someone’s hands in his hair, holding a blade so close to him, to his face, to his _neck_ –

“I don’t even know what’s real half the time. Sometimes I remember something – not always as dramatic, as – as yesterday, but I can’t tell if it’s my own memory, or a memory from… from when I was _theirs_. Everything’s hazy. And I hate not knowing the difference between the person and the machine.”

“I don’t see a machine,” Monica remarked, hands folded in her lap. “I’ve _never_ seen the machine. Just the man.” She took of her glasses, cleaning one lens very carefully with her shirttail. “The machine isn’t a part of you anymore, James. That was a thing you were made to do, made to be, but it’s not who you are, and it never will be, not anymore. All you’ve got to do now is sort through and figure out who the man is.”


	6. Flame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His hand was unsteady, and the branches came out a little jagged. Imperfect, and rough around the edges, much like himself. “Happy accident,” he mumbled, brows furrowing in determination.

**Day Six: Flame**

Bucky glanced from the canvas propped up before him to the projected image on the blank, far wall, comparing the two images, his tongue poking out from between his teeth. This painting… well, he wasn’t near finished, but it wasn’t ever going to be something hanging in the Met. He’d already smudged some of the drying skyline with the heel of his hand, and while he’d more than appreciated the paints Monica got him, he was too inexperienced to blend and layer the way they were intended. He clenched his jaw, trying to relax the small burst of anger that he felt flare up in his gut. What was that guy always saying? “We don't make mistakes, just happy little accidents.”

Monica had suggested painting as an “afternoon ritual” to mirror his morning, to keep a routine and to both calm him and direct his nervous energy into something constructive. Steve had hovered when he’d first started; he’d torn through the sparse library in mere months after arriving at the upstate facility, and while he’d occasionally be able to talk Monica into loaning him some of her own personal favorites, at times reading was painful. Even studying facts about space or biology until his eyes crossed ended with his mind drifting, often times to unpleasant places. Painting, listening to the television hippie’s soothing voice, numbed the sensation. He was able to relax, to just be. Which was exactly why Steve had needed to leave him alone. Steve had loved to draw when they were kids back in Brooklyn, but this wasn’t something Bucky was ready for them to do together, a hobby for them to share. Not yet.

“Now then, let's come right down in here and put some nice big strong arms on these trees,” the painter, Bob Ross, said softly, and his hand and the brush appeared in the frame, beginning to brush thin strokes upward from the bold trunks jutting out of the green earth. “Tree needs an arm too. It'll hold up the weight of the forest. Little bird has to have a place to set there. There he goes...” 

Bucky paid half-attention to the painting being done on the show, and began creating branches of his own. His hand was unsteady, and the branches came out a little jagged. Imperfect, and rough around the edges, much like himself. Likely not something a little bird would want to perch on. 

“Happy accident,” he mumbled, brows furrowing in determination.

There were three hollow-sounding knocks to the door, and Bucky fumbled slightly with the paintbrush before dropping it into the mason jar of clouded water next to his palette and grabbing the remote to the projector. Darcy appeared in his field of vision, breathless and smiling, as he found the “pause” button on the remote and jabbed it with a fingertip.

“Hey, Buck,” she greeted, doing a little bounce on the balls of her feet. Her smile turned self-conscious. “I’m sorry to interrupt –” She glanced up at the screen, frozen on Bob Ross’s trees. “– but, well, I have a surprise for you." 

“Surprise?” he asked, his voice guarded.

“Yep!” she said, popping the “p” sound. “Just – just wait here, okay? Don’t move, I’ll be right back.”

Bucky nodded once, and she darted from the room. He remained perched on the stool, tapping his fingers on his right knee. There was a little _snick_ , a _click_ as the ceiling light went out, and Bucky registered an odd sort of smell. Darcy reappeared, a tiny cupcake resting atop her open palms. A lone candle poked out of the buttercream frosting, sat at an angle, the light of the flame illuminating Darcy’s face in a warm glow.

“Happy birthday!” she said proudly, her voice excited but, thankfully, at an indoor-appropriate volume. Tony Stark slunk into the room behind her, arms crossed but a fond smile gracing his lips.

“We don’t have to sing for you, do we?” he asked Bucky with an arched eyebrow. 

“I… Is it even my birthday?” Bucky responded, feeling confused.

Darcy waved one hand in dismissal, seeming to juggle the cupcake and nearly dropping it, before she took a few steps forward and presented it to him. “To be honest, dude, I have no clue. It seemed as good a day as any. Besides…” She turned halfway to look at Tony, waggling her eyebrows, and the billionaire sighed heavily before stepping forward as well, holding a large roll of paper.

“Now make a wish and blow out the candle,” Darcy prompted, eyes shiny in the candlelight. Bucky met her gaze and felt a small flush come to his cheeks at the bright expectancy on her face. Slowly, carefully, he leaned forward and blew a hesitant burst of air at the flame. It went out. Darcy beamed and carefully plucked the candle out of the cake before practically shoving it in Bucky’s face. He caught it before it made contact with his chin and lifted it from her hand easily, fingers clutching the purple crepe wrapping around it.

“O-kay,” Tony said after a moment, clearing his throat impatiently. “C’mon, Barnes, I’m a busy man, and we have things to plan.” He swept from the room, and Darcy rolled her eyes at Stark’s back before smirking at Bucky and tilting her head as a gesture for him to follow. He obeyed, pinching at the cupcake wrapping with his fingertips and carefully taking a bite of the top. He wasn’t used to sugary baked goods, and the frosting was so rich on his tongue he had to stifle a moan. 

“I’m sorry if it tastes weird,” Darcy said out of the corner of her mouth, fidgeting with the hem of her cardigan as they followed Stark down the hallway towards the labs. “For all the expensive junk Tony keeps in his tower, the kitchen is surprisingly bare. I wanted to make you something from scratch, but I ended up just having to go with boxed mixes. I hope that’s okay.”

“Okay?” Bucky said around a mouthful of cupcake, and flushed before swallowing down the huge bite he’d taken. “It’s great, really – it’s perfect, and you didn’t have to…” he trailed off, spluttering, before shaking his head. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” she warned him, an odd quirk to the corner of her mouth, before ducking into Dr. Foster’s lab. Bucky followed, hesitantly; he’d been avoiding the astrophysicist’s workspace after his last major meltdown. He took a deep breath. He trusted Darcy. Even before, when she’d… well, he trusted Darcy. That was enough.

“Feast your eyes on this bad boy,” Tony announced with a flourish, whipping the rolled up paper in his hand and laying it out flat on the metal worktop. Bucky hovered over Stark’s shoulder, squinting. They were… schematics? His eyes flit over Stark’s messy handwriting, eyes flitting over phrases like “thermographic reading” and “vibranium core???” circled twice. It was a design for an arm, a new, replacement prosthetic. All the breath whooshed out of him at once.

“I’m trying to convince him to throw in a transmitter that’ll make you a wi-fi hotspot, because the reception in this building is shit,” Darcy said conversationally from behind the two of them. Bucky blinked, feeling telltale pinpricks at the back of his eyes and a pressure under the bridge of his nose. “It would take some tweaking but it’s entirely possi–”

Darcy’s words were cut off by Bucky’s shoulder as he scooped her into a careful one-armed hug, burying his nose in her hair and breathing deeply. She froze for a moment, shocked by the suddenness of it, but recovered quickly, very carefully looping her arms around his torso and holding on. There was a tremor to his breathing, and Darcy felt wetness against her ear. She bit her lip against Bucky’s chest; she hadn’t expected such a strong reaction. After a long few moments, Bucky finally pulled away, carefully swiping at his eyes with his forearm; they were red-rimmed and slightly bloodshot, but his expression was schooled, his face resolute, trying to reign himself in and regain control. Darcy let her hands fall to her side, and kept quiet, offering Bucky an encouraging smile. A quick glance around the lab showed that Tony, Jane, and the couple of research assistants that had been flitting about had all snuck out, and they were alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really enjoyed writing this chapter. It made me nostalgic to when I was little, getting up super early on Saturday mornings to watch Bob Ross on PBS. Art therapy has been shown to hugely benefit those suffering from PTSD, and at the same time it definitely presents a challenge for Bucky; he's not exactly the most patient guy ever!
> 
> Also, I knew at some point I would need to introduce Tony and Darcy's gift to Bucky, because dude needs a new prosthetic that's a little less Soviet. Thanks to **hurd** for inspiring the "wi-fi hotspot" bit!  <3


	7. Formal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Stark’s having some kinda big fancy New Year’s rag at his mansion. I don’t think I’m invited. ’Least, Steve doesn’t want me to go.”

**Day Seven: Formal**

“Stark’s having some kinda big fancy New Year’s rag at his mansion.”

Monica nodded once. 

“I don’t think I’m invited. ’Least, Steve doesn’t want me to go.”

“Do you _want_ to go?” Monica asked him patiently.

“I… don’t know.” She hummed softly in encouragement, and let him work it out in his head for a moment. “I think I’d… I mean, it’d be nice to… It’d be nice to be able to. Even if…”

Monica waited a beat before finishing for him. “You’d like the option, even if you decide not to.” At Bucky’s nod, the corners of her lips turned up. “That makes sense, and it’s certainly fair.”

“Do you think… I mean… am I ready?”

“Do _you_ think you are?” Monica countered gently and received an eye roll in response.

Bucky crossed his arms, rotating his shoulder slightly; Tony had installed the new prosthetic a few days previous, and it was still a little sore where it rubbed against the stub of his arm; he needed some time to get used to the pressure, the weight, the increased range of movement, and he knew the billionaire would want more chances to tinker with it at some point. “I don’t know,” he said softly.

“James, if I can,” Monica said, leaning back in her chair and crossing one leg over the other. “You have not, since I’ve known you, struck me as the kind of person to go along with something you aren’t sure of. I understand your desire to reacclimatize, to ‘go out,’ but I think if you are having reservations, you ought to listen to them. You’ve been sticking with our sessions, with your artwork, and I have a feeling having a new prosthetic will help you with the physical aspect of your recovery. You may feel comfortable to train more with Steve, or the other Avengers, if you so choose. But taking walks outside the compound isn’t quite the same as a Stark party in the middle of Manhattan.”

 

-^-

 

“You think you’ll be okay alone for a few hours, Buck?” Steve asked softly from the doorway. Bucky looked up from where he was lounging on his bed, engrossed in a book of Norman Rockwell paintings Monica had given him. “I’m not planning on staying long. I’ll just be a phone call away, Monica too, and Dr. Selvig will be here, his room is on the upper level, and – ”

“Relax, punk, I’ll be fine,” Bucky interrupted, forcing a smile to his lips. He pushed himself up off the bed with the prosthetic arm, and it whirred as the plates shifted. “You go have fun. Try not to step on too many toes.” 

“Ha, ha,” Steve said sarcastically, shaking his head at his friend. There was a commotion down the hall, an exclamation of, “Janey, you’re a literal princess!” Steve ducked his head out of the room and let out a bark of laughter. Bucky swallowed; he’d recognize that voice anywhere. 

Logically, Bucky knew Darcy would be going. Somehow, that felt like one of the biggest reasons he himself had wanted to tag along to Tony’s party; get dressed up for the night and pretend he was normal, like the old days, when he could take a girl out dancing. He hadn’t felt a longing for something so ordinary, so civilian, in the longest time. And when he leveled with himself that Tony Stark’s party wasn’t going to happen for him, he’d tried his best to nip those desires in the fucking bud as soon as possible. Monica was always urging him to not dwell on his limitations, but instead be grateful for his abilities.

Bucky took a few hesitant steps toward the door, and Steve stepped out of the way so Bucky could peek down the hall. Jane filled his vision, resplendent in a coral gown that flared out at the hips, and was laughing and rolling her eyes as she twirled in a slow circle. 

“What a knockout! Wait ‘til Thor sees you!” Darcy’s voice sounded from behind Dr. Foster. “I have a feeling this one won’t be coming home tonight!” 

Jane stopped spinning and blushed the color of her dress before rounding on her former intern. “ _Darcy_!” she scolded, and Darcy came into view, head thrown back in a laugh.

“I calls ‘em as I sees ‘em,” she responded with a shrug, placing a hand on her cocked hip and glancing up to Steve and Bucky. She offered them both a dazzling smile.

Bucky felt like he’d been punched in the gut. Darcy looked like something out of a dream. Her curls were swept over one shoulder by a shimmery pin. Her dress was midnight blue, cinched at the waist and the flowy, poofy material he remembered dames wearing back in the day, ending mid-calf and displaying a pair of silver pumps. 

“You ready to go, Cap?” Darcy asked Steve, and Bucky blinked out of his reverie. His eyes had drifted to her bust line, a generous peek of creamy white skin, and he kicked himself for the base, caveman behavior.

“Yes, ma’am,” Steve responded, and offered an arm to each of the girls.

“I wish you could come with us,” Darcy said to Bucky, reaching out a hand to give his a squeeze. He nodded once, unable to meet her eyes. “Hey,” she chastised, nudging his arm with her shoulder until he met her gaze. Her smile was soft, the corner of her mouth twitching downward into some semblance of a regretful smile. He pressed his lips together and exhaled through his nose. He couldn’t handle her pity right now. 

“I need to sit this one out,” he said after a moment. “Maybe next year, right?” The smile he offered in return probably looked more like a grimace, but it seemed to appease her.

“That’s the spirit,” she responded, linking arms with Steve and letting him lead her and Dr. Foster down the hallway. “Happy New Year!” she called over her shoulder.

Bucky exhaled through his nose once more. He felt anger bubbling hot in his belly. He clenched his fists and spun around on his heel to re-enter his bedroom, bouncing off the doorframe carelessly and flopping face-first onto his bed. He squeezed his eyes shut and started counting backwards from one hundred, and he most definitely did not think about Darcy or that dress or whatever lucky sonofabitch would get to kiss her at midnight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh. This chapter kind of kicked my butt. When I first decided to do this drabble challenge, I remember reading the word "formal" and instantly, in my head, this little tropey oneshot appeared, with Bucky in a tux, freshly shaven and with a haircut, bashfully trying to ask Darcy to dance, stuttering and mumbling and realizing he can't make any of his old tricks work on her. But I don't think Bucky's quite ready for that kind of a crowd, or the pressure. So... sad, angsty, jealous Bucky. I'm not entirely happy with this chapter, but I'm running out of time to post so... hopefully the next one is better? As always, thanks for your kind words of encouragement. Every email notification I get for a review gives me the biggest, goofiest, and stupidest smile in the history of the world. You guys rock <3


	8. Companion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucky the dog has his debut, and Bucky makes a new friend.

**Day Eight: Companion**

“Well, who’s this handsome fella?” 

Bucky glanced up from his perusal of the morning news at Sam’s words, and felt a slight jolt of surprise.

There was a dog.

“This is Lucky,” Barton replied, snatching a mug out of the cupboard to the left of Sam’s head and filling it from the coffee pot. “Since my apartment’s under surveillance, he and I are gonna stay here for the time being.”

“Kate not offering for you to bunk at her place?”

“Shaddup, Wilson.” 

Bucky had caught snippets of conversation between Steve and Natasha, whispers about what Barton’s brother had been up to – questionable work for the FBI – and that, since Clint had aided in Bucky’s protection, Barney Barton had been keeping a suspiciously close watch on his younger sibling. Bucky swallowed with some difficulty, trying to bite back the wave of guilt; it seemed he’d had a knack for upending one life after another. Barton didn’t seem to hold a grudge, but… 

Something cold and wet was registering against his prosthetic, and Bucky looked down in alarm, meeting the surprisingly focused gaze of a shaggy, one-eyed mutt parked by his seat at the table. At obtaining Bucky’s attention, said pooch barked once, and its tail got to thumping on the floor. 

“Hello,” Bucky said softly. The dog blinked one eye. 

“Wilson and I are gonna spar – d’you mind keeping an eye on him?”

Bucky looked up to Barton’s open, questioning gaze. His tone and demeanor seemed to hold no ill will. Bucky released a breath he didn’t realize he was holding in.

“Yeah,” Bucky said slowly, absentmindedly reaching a hand out to pat the dog’s head once. “Yeah, okay.”

“Cool,” Barton replied with a grin. “I just took him outside, he shouldn’t need to eat. Just keep him out of the labs. Selvig’s lab rats have a tendency to leave experiments unattended and Lucky exclusively eats things he’s not supposed to.” He downed his coffee in one last gulp, let the mug drop into the sink with a hollow, metallic thunk, and he and Sam left the kitchenette. 

“Okay, dog,” Bucky said after a moment, glancing up at the empty room before looking back to Lucky. He’d never had enough money for a pet of his own, or even to care for any of the strays that roamed Brooklyn. But Monica was constantly reminding him that he needed to work on his eye contact, as hard as that was for him, because it would drastically improve his communication skills. “Looks like it’s just you and me.” Lucky nudged his prosthetic again, and despite how self-conscious it made him feel, how even before it he’d felt an insecure urge to hide his metal arm when it wasn’t being used as weaponry, he felt as if maybe this was the mutt’s seal of approval. “Let’s go, uh, do dog things.”

 

-^-

 

Lucky didn’t leave Bucky’s side for the rest of the day, not even after Barton returned from training with Sam and collapsed in front of the couch in the common area to marathon Dog Cops. The one-eyed pooch followed him to his counseling session with Monica (whose eyes lit up at the sight of him), out to the lawn for a walk (which Bucky was trying to take daily, despite the cold), and even to the empty projection room where Bucky practiced painting. To his surprise, Lucky laid on the floor – and napped – while Bucky let Bob Ross lull him into a calm, and ended up adding in a sloppy, ill-proportioned dog to his lakeshore scene. Darcy showed up late in the afternoon to rouse Jane from the lab; it was Tuesday, and they had a standing Mexican food date (“Half-price margaritas are a necessity, Buck,” she’d explained, solemnly, at his inquiry.) She’d stopped short at the sight of him, a breathtaking smile lighting up her face and rendering Bucky momentarily stupid. She’d had to repeat twice her question about who Bucky’s shadow was.

“It’s – he’s – uh, Barton’s dog,” he’d stuttered lamely, red-faced, and scratched awkwardly at the back of his neck as Darcy dropped to her knees and let the dog smother her with wet dog kisses. 

“So _this_ is the Lucky I keep hearing about!” she’d exclaimed, voice high and excitable as though talking to a baby. “You’re even cuter than I pictured!” Lucky preened and promptly tackled her to the ground, where she rolled side to side, gasping with laughter as his tongue roved over her cheeks. Bucky couldn’t help the stupid smile that started to form on his face at the sight.

“Down, boy!” Barton’s voice called roughly, and Lucky stopped to spare his owner a lazy glance – Bucky swore the dog’s only eye rolled – before he continued to smother Darcy with affection.

“It’s – ha! – fine, Clint, I swear!” Darcy replied, managing to pull herself into a sitting position, Lucky perched in her lap, tail thumping on the ground. His mouth was open in a grin, tongue lolling out the side, and he preened at her attention. “I think he just likes having more company than your lazy ass.”

“Well, he’s been spoiled today. I don’t think I’ve seen him since this morning,” Clint said, smiling and shaking his head as he came to stand at Bucky’s left.

“Can you blame him? Sounds like the company was, like, _infinitely_ better,” Darcy countered with a smirk, rising to her feet and brushing some of Lucky’s fur off her coat. She winked at the two of them before squeezing right in between their shoulders, bumping their arms as she passed, and trotted off towards the lab, Lucky trailing behind her. As she disappeared from view, her voice echoed as she called, “Janey, you have T-minus five seconds to drop the soldering iron before I drop it for you! The margs await!”

Barton shook his head, chuckling. “She’s really something, huh?”

“Yeah,” Bucky intoned dumbly. “Something.” 

“You know,” Barton said with an absent-minded scratch at his jaw line, catching Bucky’s eye, “you might be on to something. Chicks are really into dogs.” He clapped Bucky on the shoulder, grinning, and left in the direction Darcy had come, leaving Bucky alone, blushing, to ponder on his words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had this chapter written a few days ago, and planned to read over it and edit it today before posting - come to find out, I somehow manage to only save the first four paragraphs I'd written, and everything else had disappeared. I ended up scrapping everything I'd written and taking a slightly different direction with this chapter. As always, mistakes are my own - I'm un-beta'd through and through - but I literally wrote this in the past hour, proofread once, and am going ahead and posting it to keep with my schedule. As someone who loves to re-read my writing with fresh eyes, I know I'm going to come back to this three days from now and flip a table, but for now, if you notice any grammar or continuity mistakes, or just something glaringly wrong, drop me a line so I can fix it. As always, thank you for reading!


	9. Move

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's good to have friends on the bad days.

**Day Nine: Move**

Not every day was a good day.

Bucky paced.

Today was one of those days that made him feel like his brain was actively working against him, when every negative and critical thought he’s ever had echoes, reverberates around his skull, ten times too loud, on a constant loop. He gritted his teeth, balled his fists, exhaled through his nose. He needed to do… something. But what he wanted to do was go down to the gym and punch through a few walls, which he knew topped a list of Not Good Things To Do when he felt this way.

 _Fucking useless waste_ , his brain spat at him. He couldn’t even trust himself alone, blood pumping and heart racing, without devolving into the Asset. He was no more than what HYDRA had done to him. They’d done him a goddamn favor.

Bucky surveyed the room around him, fingers twitching with the restless energy that thrummed inside his body. The common area, full of cushy couches, tables and lamps, a television screen that seemed larger than life. He thought about the satisfying way the glass would shatter if he felt like throwing an armchair through it.

No, you’re better than that.

 _No, you’re not_.

There was a low whining noise. Bucky blinked.

Lucky had slunk into the room, unnoticed, and was watching him with one eye, head cocked. “Dog,” Bucky acknowledged, and the mutt’s tail thumped rhythmically on the hardwood floor. He exhaled once, slowly blowing the air through his lips, and knelt down. Lucky sprung up from his crouch and skidded to a halt before Bucky, tail wagging, and placed two paws against Bucky’s chest. They were eye-to-eye. 

Lucky seemed to observe the man, curiously, before licking a slow stripe up Bucky’s cheek. It was the dog’s seal of approval. Bucky exhaled again, this time even more slowly, and he felt tears spring to his eyes from out of nowhere.

“Good dog,” he mumbled, voice cracking, and reached up his flesh hand to scratch the dog behind the ears. Except, Jesus, the tears didn’t stop and his nose ached in a way that told him he was getting too damned emotional over this dog, but damn it if Lucky wasn’t the most comforting thing he’d had access to, lately. He shuffled his feet, let his ass hit the floor, and all seventy pounds of Lucky plopped into his lap, wet, cold nose against his face, wizened eye seeing more than any human could. Bucky leaned forward and buried his face into the soft fur of Lucky’s neck, his chest aching with each quiet sob, and he wrapped both arms around the mutt, winding his fingers through Lucky’s fur. 

He was still clutching Lucky against his chest when Darcy stumbled upon them; Bucky wasn’t sure how much time had gone by, but the tears had dried on his cheeks. Lucky hadn’t budged, though, instead settling his head atop Bucky’s upper arm. Bucky’s eyes widened at the sight of her, and his head screamed at him with a fight or flight response – get the hell out of there, how embarrassing, and just what he needed, too, the dame always catching him in the throes of crazy – but she reached out a hand, palm facing him, and approached slowly. “Wait,” she said, barely above a whisper, and so he did.

Darcy knelt before him and reached out a cautious hand, pausing right before her fingers brushed his skin as she searched his eyes for permission. She was gentle, carding her fingers through the hair that stuck to his forehead, running them back to his crown, electric-blue nails lightly scratching his scalp as she went. Bucky’s hand spasmed against Lucky’s back; he carefully removed one arm from its position around the dog and wrapped it instead around Darcy’s back, urging her closer. He caught the smile tugging at the corner of her lips before she was pressed close to him, a hand feather-light on his shoulder, Lucky trapped between them. Bucky rested his chin on her shoulder, closing his eyes and breathing in something citrusy and sweet and unmistakably Darcy. Her hair tickled his nose, which felt stuffed and hot from his crying, and he sniffed once. Darcy’s fingers tightened against his shoulder. 

“It’s okay,” she whispered in his ear, and his shoulders gave a slight twitch as he shivered involuntarily. Lucky jerked a few times in displeasure, trying to wiggle his way out of being sandwiched between the two. The voice in Bucky’s head had dulled. “It’s okay, Bucky,” Darcy whispered again, and to Bucky’s surprise, he felt like maybe he could believe her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I struggled with the prompt, hell this entire chapter - having a bad anxiety day myself, unfortunately. Ultimately I decided Bucky needed more time with Pizza Dog. Everyone needs a Pizza Dog. Sorry about the length, I know this one is a bit shorter than what I would usually write, but I'll do my best to make it up to you guys tomorrow.


	10. Silver

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky and Tony and some tinkering and feelings talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shit, you guys, I messed up yesterday. Work was stressful and when I got home I fully intended to sit down and write this chapter but sleep happened instead. I wrote most of this today on my lunch break, and I'm mostly done with Day 11's prompt, so hopefully I'll be able to double-post one day this week so I'm caught back up. I'm honestly surprised I've made it this far in this challenge without missing a day - I am so horrendous at making myself sit down and churn out fic. Hopefully this one doesn't disappoint. As always, thanks for reading, and thanks to all of you who left the lovely reviews!

**Day Ten: Silver**

Tony Stark had spent a long time hating Bucky Barnes. Not as long as he deserved, Bucky mused. Iron Man had even tried to kill him, once – much deserved, Bucky felt – which made the situation so much more odd.

“You’re gonna have to relax your shoulder, there, Anakin,” the man in question quipped from his spot at Bucky’s left, one hand braced under the soldier’s mechanic arm, the other plucking at an exposed wire with a pair of tweezers.

Odd, indeed. 

The two had eventually come to some semblance of a truce, for lack of an understanding, because despite being the Winter Soldier at the time, he had been responsible for the death of Stark’s parents – something Steve had then kept hidden from him, for what purpose Bucky still did not understand. He knew the act of kindness Stark had expressed in building him a replacement prosthetic had been primarily motivated by Darcy, for whom the billionaire seemed to have a soft spot, but there was genuine care to his tinkering, and for that Bucky was immensely grateful.

“So,” Stark said airily, removing the tweezers and admiring his handiwork, “any enhancements you want me to add? Kickstand? Satellite radio? Cupholder? I’ll get you one that’ll fit Big Gulps.”

“Big Gulps… huh?” Stark immediately let out a bark of laughter and clapped his hands together, which had Bucky flinching in his seat.

“Someone needs to show you all the great movies you’ve missed in the last few decades,” Stark replied without explanation, spinning on his shop stool to rifle through the open drawer of his tool cabinet. “I would think,” he muttered absently, fingers dancing over a few tools as he mulled over his options, “that Darcy would have…”

“Darcy said something about a… a wi-fi hot spot?” Bucky piped up.

Stark abruptly wheeled back to face him. “A cleverly-timed change of subject,” he said with a roguish grin, brandishing a wrench the size of Bucky’s head. “But yes, you are correct. In fact…” He stroked his goatee with his free hand, studying Bucky for a moment, before snapping and spinning back around. He rummaged once more in the drawer and, this time, producing a soldering iron. He gave a nudge to the work glasses perched atop his head and they dropped onto his nose. Bucky closed his eyes, grateful for the change in direction.

Darcy was a subject that left Bucky with a swooping stomach, both from the thrill of her presence and an odd kind of anxiety he couldn’t remember feeling for a long time. Darcy had been a great friend to him since he’d let himself relax around her. And the fact that she’d seen him completely lose it and still allowed herself around him spoke volumes. His trust in her had grown exponentially at the gift of the prosthetic arm design by Tony. But New Year’s Eve… that had been a real doozy for him. Bucky had found Darcy exciting, fascinating, and too energetic for her own good since they’d met. He’d been drawn to her for these very reasons. But the possessiveness, the… attraction, the jealousy he’d felt, seeing her walk off on Steve’s arm in _that dress_ , that had been new, uncharted territory. He remembered bits and pieces of his youth; he’d been good at that sort of thing, once – a real heartbreaker, according to Steve. But his tricks wouldn’t work on Darcy, and she wasn’t the type of dame he’d dare try them on.

So what exactly did he want? Steve had been his world and then some, more than a brother, but this wasn’t quite the same as that. Monica he trusted with more of his inner thoughts than he ever expected he’d _want_ to share. He interacted with the Avengers in the compound as was necessary. But Darcy… Darcy was something different.

“I can’t deal with the lovesick puppy look, Barnes, so either talk about her or let’s change the subject.”

Bucky blinked. Stark was eyeing him knowingly, and Bucky cleared his throat and looked at his lap so he didn’t have to watch the billionaire smirk at him over the glinting silver of his prosthetic. “S’nothing to talk about,” he mumbled.

“Okay, Rapunzel, hide behind your hair if you want.” Bucky could hear the amused lilt to Stark’s voice. “But, you know, I don’t generally make house calls like this.”

“S’your house,” Bucky countered. 

“Touché. Look, my point…” Stark sighed, and Bucky peeked through his hair; there was a conflicted expression on the man’s face, and he’d stopped fiddling with the prosthetic, seeming to be gathering his thoughts. “She cares about you. And you’re, well… PTSD doesn’t even begin to cover it, I get that, and nobody can expect you to… Just…” The faraway look in Stark’s eyes gave Bucky pause, and he raised his head to fully look at the billionaire. The lines of his face seemed more pronounced, the graying at his temples visible, and he grunted once. “I’ve made mistakes in my past, broken promises to people I care about, that I needed to protect. Drove them away, actually, because of the way I am, the way I handle things. And you’re… you’ve coped better than expected really, all of your murderous rage tendencies considered. Just, if you’re going to try and go down that road with her, make sure you’re ready. She’s strong but she’s not going to let you jerk her around. She’d leave before she let that happen. And I don’t think… Well, I’m not gonna put words in your mouth, Fabio, but trust me when I say, from experience, it’s about the worst possible scenario.”

Bucky knew from casual asides that Stark’s former assistant-cum-girlfriend, and now CEO of his company, was a sore subject, and while he didn’t know the reasoning, this was the most sincere the man had ever been with him. Stark had his demons – hell, as Monica had once pointed out, the Avengers as a whole would make psychologists cry. They were a spectacularly fucked up group of people. But he knew Stark’s speech came from somewhere a little more personal.

“Don’t worry about wrestling for a response; I’m not really in the mood for any more of a chat about _feelings_ , honestly,” Tony said after a moment, his tone more clipped, a forced smile on his face. “Let’s make you wireless.”


	11. Prepared

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darcy rolled her eyes at him. “Well, you’re going to need to get excited. Tony’s letting us borrow one of his good cars.” She waggled her eyebrows. “I was thinking we’d find somewhere to get breakfast food but, I mean, we could totally drive to Mexico, start over, assume new identities. I bet you’d look great with a mustache.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been over a year since I've touched this story, but here recently I felt something tugging me back to it. I had to hunt for the original list of prompts so I could see what words were assigned to each day. And I also had to reread it and remember the stuff I was going through when I started writing. Hopefully I can finish it this time around and do it the justice I planned from the beginning.

**Day Eleven: Prepared**

Bucky waited by the door, hands shoved into his pockets, trying to even out his breathing. Darcy bounced up to him a moment later, throwing a scarf around his neck and looping it in an intricate knot. “Are you ready?” she asked, grinning, hands still holding onto the ends of the scarf, and Bucky swallowed nervously.

“Yep,” he replied quietly, sounding unconvincing even to his own ears.

Darcy rolled her eyes at him. “Well, you’re going to need to get excited. Tony’s letting us borrow one of his good cars.” She waggled her eyebrows. “I was thinking we’d find somewhere to get breakfast food but, I mean, we could totally drive to Mexico, start over, assume new identities. I bet you’d look great with a mustache.”

Bucky couldn’t help the smile that tugged at the corner of his lips. That is, until Barton breezed by them and out the door, throwing a, “To hell you are,” over his shoulder. Because he was coming with them. Like a goddamned babysitter. 

Darcy had been pushing for Bucky to get out of the tower and do something out in public for weeks, going so far as to drag Monica into it. There’d been an argument between the two of them and Steve; Bucky, thankfully, hadn’t been present, but he heard about it – heard _it_ , really, the walls in the compound could only muffle so much noise. Steve had finally relented, not that he’d had much choice – not that anybody had much choice, Monica had reasoned logically, aside from Bucky himself. She’d made it clear to Bucky, she trusted him to make decisions regarding what was going on in his own life. He’d been grateful for that. But it was a new experience.

Bucky wasn’t used to having options, he was used to following orders. Even when he’d finally been on his own, hiding all those months in Romania, he’d lived a simple life, never taking much more than what was offered to him or what he had the means to get. Steve had come into this century with a list of new things to try. Bucky had come in and out of it, in and out of _ice_ , been told what to do and what to say and what to think and what to believe. Exploring and trying new things wasn’t in his repertoire. 

“Think of it as a new challenge,” Monica had suggested. “Up until now, we’ve set up boundaries and activities and routines, but it’s all been at my recommendation – and you’ve never questioned it, James. I like to think, perhaps, that was more out of trust for me than the training you’ve received, but we both know what you’re used to. It’s your first time out in the open, in awhile, and you’re nervous, which is understandable. Mr. Rogers requested a third party comes along – someone you trust – and hangs out in the shadows, keeps an eye out, but only intervenes if it is truly, _truly_ necessary. There are hidden triggers all around, but I don’t worry about the safety of others more than I worry about _your_ own safety, James. You know when things get to be too much for you. I trust you can handle this. I hate to coddle you, because, as you’re _so_ fond of reminding me, _you’re not a child_.”

He could do this. He _wanted_ to do this. He wanted to be able to see the world through fresh eyes, see some of the world Darcy had told him about. All the delicious foods she ate, the interesting people she saw, the fresh air she breathed.

“Hey.” He nearly started at Darcy’s voice, and blinked at the sudden warmth of her hand sliding into his. He blinked. She was eyeing him carefully. “You okay?”

They both knew that was a loaded question. He breathed in and out carefully, nodded once. “Yeah. Yeah, I am.” He paused, glancing down at their interlocked hands, and grinned. “You been talkin’ up the twenty-first century, Lewis. I hope it was worth all the hype.” Darcy’s lips twisted into a matching grin, and she nudged him with her shoulder before tugging him out the door behind her. 

Barton was waiting for them, leaning against a sleek, bright orange car, arms crossed over each other, jingling the keys impatiently in one hand. “You guys coming today?” he called as they approached, and Bucky grimaced. He liked Barton, sure, but he was clearly taking one out of Stark’s book and determined to give them a hard time.

“Hey, neither of us asked you to come along, _Hawkguy_ ,” Darcy snarked in response, reaching forward and yanking the key ring off his finger. “Just pretend we’re in New Mexico again – I don’t know you exist, and we keep it that way.” The corner of Barton’s mouth twitched, and he raised his hands in surrender. 

“Fine, fine,” he relented, taking a step away from the car and easing open the back door, “but if this place serves me floppy bacon, it’s your ass on the line.” 

Barton was quiet during the car ride, thankfully – not that Darcy gave him a chance to get a word in edgewise. She hooked her phone into the auxiliary cable of Stark’s complex looking radio and played soft rock songs Bucky would have to remember to ask her about later. As the music played, she chatted about her week, the goings-on at Stark’s tower, and some of the wacky inventions the billionaire would spring on her after his third day of no sleep. 

Bucky had made the executive decision to not make the trek into New York City for their outing, deciding if he was going to re-assimilate with large groups of people, going into such a densely populated area might not be the best idea for the first time. Instead, they headed northeast towards Port Henry, near the Vermont border. It was strange to think of how close they were to the hustle and bustle of the big city, because being surrounded by lakes and forests on deserted roads made Bucky feel as if they were the only people for miles. Which… wasn’t exactly a bad thing. Despite the steady cadence of Darcy’s voice and the comfortable ambiance of music playing, Bucky felt his nerves hike up. He wanted to spend time with Darcy, but maybe this was a mistake. They’d have just as good of a time if they were back at the compound, eating the last of whatever Steve cooked himself for lunch, closing themselves away in the projection room, Darcy reading while Bucky painted with Bob Ross, Lucky sneaking in at some point and curling up at their feet.

Darcy squealed with laughter, interrupting his train of thought, as they drove through a small town named “Ironville, NY,” according to the signs; this started her on a tangent of whether it was some sort of coincidence, or if it had something to do with Stark. “This has Tony written all over it!” she said, grinning and shaking her head as the reached the city limits a moment later. “Though I wonder if they named it in his honor? Because, y’know, if he was going to buy and rename a city, he’d pick something bigger. More opulent. And he’d build more penis buildings.” Bucky had looked at her in alarm at that, but she merely snorted. “Dude, wait until I show you Stark Tower. It’s definitely phallic.”

Bucky nodded and looked back out the window, determined to keep to himself how her words made his stomach swoop; he felt foolish, but it was a kneejerk reaction. Every time she mentioned, so casually, something she wanted to show him or a place they could go together, and never phrased it as anything other than something that would _definitely_ happen. Monica was big on getting Bucky’s permission, and, hell, Steve would probably tie Bucky’s shoelaces for him if he’d let him. But Darcy, while cautious of his feelings, never seemed to doubt for a second if he was able to do something or not. He chewed the inside of his cheek.

Before long, they were pulling up to a building alongside the water – “Lake Champlain,” Darcy proclaimed proudly as she threw the gearshift into park. The siding was painted Robin’s egg blue, and there were two other cars in the parking lot. Bucky’s eyes swept across the area, unable to keep himself from the habit; no threat detected. His shoulders sagged ever-so-slightly.

“Alright, kiddos,” Darcy said, clapping her hands against her thighs. “Time to eat!”

She was out of the car in a flash. Bucky glanced back at Barton, his hand poised over the door handle, his gaze questioning. Barton shook his head once. “I’m not here,” he reminded him, the corner of his mouth quirking up slightly as he spoke, and he rolled his eyes before clapping Bucky on the shoulder with one hand. “Go on, Barnes – get your girl.”

“Shuddup,” Bucky groused, shrugging off Barton’s hand, but unable to help the smile that touched his own face as he finally climbed out of the vehicle.

Darcy linked arms with him as they approached the diner, and hip-checked him, looking up at him curiously through her eyelashes. “You good?” she asked him softly.

“Yeah,” he replied, exhaling. “I’m ready.”


	12. Knowledge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter this time, a brief conversation between Bucky and Monica.

**Day Twelve: Knowledge**  

“Dare I assume you had a nice time?”

Monica was regarding him above her glasses with an eyebrow, a knowing smirk gracing her lips.

“Haven’t ya read the papers yet? International incident.” Bucky couldn’t help but smile back and shake his head; he was hunched over in his seat, hands folded between his spread knees, and he worried his lower lip with his teeth before speaking. “Naw, it was… well, it was fine. I’ve gotta get over my paranoia, y’know, feeling like everyone’s eyes are on me.”

“It’s hard to not feel that way, sometimes, especially when you’re nervous. And perhaps a bit hyper-critical of yourself.”

Bucky shook his head and brushed his hair out of his eyes. “Initially, yeah. But it got better. Good food, good conversation.”

He could tell Monica wanted him to elaborate, but he cleared his throat and remained silent. Truth was, after the initial nerves, he’d had fun with Darcy. He’d remembered how he felt for a time in Bucharest, living anonymously in the open: the moments he’d allowed himself to relax, after a habitual scan for impending danger, and go upon his business like any regular person could. Darcy had been so encouraging, not even batting an eye at his indecisiveness over the menu and making gentle suggestions. He was glad she’d been the one to take him out first – there was no pressure to do anything other than just be. He’d even been able to ignore, briefly, that Barton was 3 booths away, watching the pair over a plateful of bacon and an entire pot of coffee.

Bucky honestly wasn’t sure what he felt like doing at this point. The rush of energy he’d felt from being out of the compound had worn off. He’d slept free of nightmares, and kept to his usual routine that morning. He couldn’t decide whether he was coming to resent it or not. He knew the safety of those around him was of utmost priority.

“There will always be a risk,” he said finally, meeting Monica’s gaze. “Even when I’m here. But I think… well. It would be worth it to try again. Maybe. It was… nice. To have a break.”

“A break?” Monica prodded.

“From the eyes on me,” he said, his voice softer. “From the routine. It… I liked being in a different place.” He exhaled and reached up to brush some of the hair out of his face. “I like it here too, of course. I just liked… I liked knowing that I _could_ , y’know, leave. That I could handle myself, the way I did in Romania.”


	13. Denial

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Sam?” Bucky questioned softly, not even making eye contact.
> 
> Sam paused for a moment before dropping his hand. “Yeah?”
> 
> “What’s Tinder?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been sucking at getting one of these out every day. By a loooong shot. I'm working on it. Thank you all for your kind words, and for sticking with me.

**Day Thirteen: Denial**

Bucky hit the mat with a thunderous _boom_ and instead of hopping back up at the ready, he lay on his back, staring at the ceiling of the training gymnasium.

“You’re distracted as hell today, dude,” Sam snarked, grinning and reaching his hand out to help Bucky back up.

“Sam?” Bucky questioned softly, not even making eye contact.

Sam paused for a moment before dropping his hand. “Yeah?”

“What’s Tinder?” 

It took a good 60 seconds before Sam could catch his breath through his laughter, and the confused look on Bucky’s face when he finally regarded the pilot set him off again. After several moments of wheezing, he finally regained his composure. “Are you – why do you need Tinder?” he asked, swiping a giddy tear from his eye.

“It’s not for me,” Bucky mumbled after a moment, finally leaning on his elbow and pushing himself into a seated position. “It’s – well – I heard Darcy saying something to Jane about…” He ran a hand awkwardly through his hair. “She met someone there? I only heard part of it. Is that… does she go there often? Would she like – like me to…”

The look on Sam’s face turned pitying, and Bucky felt his features sag. This is why he hadn’t wanted to ask in the first place. He was discovering plenty of the questions he had were the kind he never really wanted answers to.

Sam chewed at the inside of his lip for a moment, crossed and then uncrossed his arms. “Tinder is an app for your phone,” he finally said, nodding once and meeting Bucky’s eyes before adding, “for meeting people to go on dates.”

Bucky felt an instant head rush. 

Dating. Darcy… dating? Going on dates? Hadn’t they…?

He opened his mouth, but no sound came out.

“I… wish I didn’t have to be the bearer of bad news,” Sam said and, with a sigh, dropped down onto the mat next to Bucky. 

“I don’t understand,” he responded weakly.

Sam nodded once, decisively. “I mean, I guess we all just kind of assumed…” At Bucky’s dark look, he backpedaled. “Not that we were paying any amount of attention to you two. It’s just… it seemed like there was something there.”

“Did I do something wrong?” Bucky said after a moment, voice barely above a whisper.

Sam scratched absently at his shoulder, let out a short chuckle, and said, “Dude, did you do _anything_?” Bucky glowered again, and Sam rolled his eyes. “Come on, Cassanova. You’ve gotta remember something about how you used to be a heartbreaker. You two left this building together once – who planned that? Was it a date? Because one of you would have had to have said the word _date_.”

“No, nobody said the word date,” Bucky groused, bringing both hands up to cover his face. He scrubbed his palms over his cheeks, frustrated. “She’s been great, trying to help me out. Help me be less broken.”

“She cares about you.” 

Bucky met Sam’s eyes, and Sam offered him a curt nod before turning his head up to look at the ceiling. He chewed on the inside of his cheek for a moment, choosing his words. “I won’t pretend I understand the extent of what you’ve gone through. But… with the shit _I_ have gone through…” He swallowed. “Time helps. But it doesn’t fix everything. And I get that. Darcy’s special. She’s been patient with you. And she may be digging on you, and willing to hang around for you. But somebody else is bound to catch on, and may be ready to put in the effort she deserves…” He sighed. “Darcy’s special,” he repeated, “and you can bet your stupid ass if you don’t do something about it, someone else will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like it goes without saying this fic ignores the events of Black Panther and Infinity War. Especially Infinity War.


End file.
